


Thirty Fangs & A Vendetta

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Blood and Magic and Black Cats Oh My, F/F, Familiars, From "No it's MY dagger" to Lovers, Memory Loss, Mystery ?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Author Has A Difficult Time With Tags, Witchcraft, slow burn ?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s been ten years since she left.Edelgard is a young witch and heir to the throne with the singular goal of tracking down her mother. After years of relatively fruitless searching, she’s finally presented with the closest link to her thus far. Unfortunately for Edelgard, it lies in the form of her mother’s lost familiar with missing memories and a horrid reputation.When she’s dragged away from her personal endeavor, Edelgard begins to discover that perceptions can be very different from reality.Especially when it comes to character.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	1. Pandora's Box

There was something in the nature of magic that made it naturally volatile. It was as much a part of a witch in the way a tail is to a cat, but it wasn’t something so easily bent. 

Magic is centered in the blood, flows like water and runs like a current. To control it was technically impossible, you could only encourage its direction and shape. The rest was up to biology. 

Edelgard had never been fond of relinquishing control on any front. 

Moonlight filters in through the glass of her window, creating bluish puddles that are washed out by the few candles that dance with orange flames on her desk. It’s just enough to see her work by, papers both bound and loose strung about in an organized discord atop the polished wood.

Her gloves are what keep her from feeling the need to stop. 

The fabric conceals what she knows to be there, the contusions and damaged flesh of her palms from each attempt at this stubborn spell. She can feel the buzz that pulses underneath her skin unpleasantly even if she chooses not to acknowledge it. 

Each cast had failed, and each time she suffered for it. It was the magic’s protest against its wielder, lashing back at her for her incapability. Still, she could hardly claim to be bothered. 

_Breathe_

Despite the outcry of her body, she forced the magic to swell, directing it into her injured hands. It flooded there, held back by the dam of her concentration. Her fingers began to tremble and quake with the effort, yet she held the energy there. 

It would obey. It was _her_ magic, and whoever decided that it was too unpredictable to be manipulated spoke only from lack of prowess. Edelgard had held that thought close, using it to mask her doubts and feed the confidence that was nothing but artificial ever since she was a child.

She could make this work. She had to.

She pushed life into it. 

The energy exploded, fanning out in every direction and leaving her palms with that all too familiar burn. It was spread too thin to cause any damage to her surroundings that, at least, she could be certain of, otherwise her room would have been reduced to rubble long ago. 

The magic is meant to rush out like a wave, taking in everything it reaches and receding back with what it’s gathered. Telling Edelgard exactly what she wants to know. 

Only it never returns, it never has. 

No matter how many times she attempts to recall it, that wave dissipates, leaving her with only her fatigue and longing for a different outcome.

She lets herself fall back into her chair, tucking her hands close to her chest and catching the breath she lost. Her fingers haven’t yet stopped twitching, they jitter of their own accord these days regardless of if she’s been casting or not. 

There’s a moment of peace while she allows her eyelids to flutter closed and tries to distract herself from the looming presence she can feel in the doorway. Maybe she can stay like this and avoid the oncoming torrent of disapproval she can feel beginning to stockpile behind her. 

“And how long have you been at this, exactly?” 

Or maybe she’s grown too comfortable with the fantasy of being able to escape Hubert’s scolding some day. 

“Welcome back,” Edelgard replies, words falling with a general lack of enthusiasm. She blinks and her familiar is hovering over the back of her chair, his shadow casting over her in the literal most dramatic way possible. Hubert’s got a flair for it whether he’s aware of it or not. 

She stands reluctantly to face him, reclining against the back of the chair and folding her arms casually across her chest. 

Hubert’s glint is analytical in a way that borders on intrusive, but Edelgard’s learned enough to stop squirming underneath it. His brow tightens just enough to be noticeable and she wonders what he’s seeing on her, what she failed to cover up. 

“When was the last time you’ve slept?” 

It’s the half-moons underneath her eyes, then. Not enough make-up to hide those. 

She breaks, letting her form slump and release the bit of composure that she wore in an attempt to throw him off. A sigh, long and heavy, empties from her lungs and she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Two..two days ago?” It’s a question because there’s no solid answer for his. She looks at him from behind her hand, eyebrows lifting in an apology. 

He doesn’t take it. 

“My liege.”

_Off we go._

“Your negligence for your own health and safety is absolutely disconcerting. Surely you must have some appreciation for the state of your own well-being.” He’s exasperated, but keeps it tucked underneath the professionalism, she can see his actual emotion play out in the subtle flickers of expression he tries to force down. “You are a capable witch, one who has a natural affinity for magic in a manner I, myself, have come to identify as rare but-”

“You’re reckless with yourself, taking unnecessary risks. If you continue to strain yourself in this way you may even one day lose your ability to wield magic entirely. I have no power nor authority over you but you must understand that as your familiar I cannot rightly watch you destroy your own body,” she finishes for him, mimicking the tone and depth of his voice in the way she knows he hates. 

“Did I cover it all?” She’s cheeky with him only because he’s serious enough for the both of them. Not that it irritated him any less. 

Hubert moves faster than she can react to, tugging loose one of her arms from its place across her chest and plucking a white glove off of her hand. Edelgard’s grateful for the dim lighting, she doesn’t want to see and makes a point to tilt her head in any other direction. 

“You can’t continue to pretend that this is acceptable, my liege.” 

“I never claimed it was.”

She doesn’t need to look to know he’s tightening his jaw to coax down a stinging remark, a gentleman with her if nothing else. 

He strips her other hand of its covering, placing both gloves down on her desk after folding them neatly in contrast to the mess of parchment. She extends her hands to him and he accepts them delicately, treating her with the sort of care she doesn’t require. 

His magic is of the foreign sort and she’s never gotten used to the feeling of it running along the surface of her palms. She’s silent as he heals her, mending flesh back together and guiding her skin to rid itself of blemishes. It’s common practice, Edelgard breaks herself, Hubert fixes. He’s not perfect, there will always be scars, but she isn’t sure where she would be without him. 

“There will come a time when I will be unable to put you back together again.” He’s concentrated on his task, doesn’t even bother to meet her eye. The words don’t stir anything within Edelgard, she’s lost in the way his hands take on the ethereal glow associated with healing magic. It makes strange shadows bow and furl around them, the light turns Hubert’s sharp and angular features into even rougher edges that make him look otherworldly in the way she imagines he would when not wrapped in the guise of a human. 

“I’ll never let it reach that point, I’m more than aware of my limits.” 

He breathes out a huff of dry laughter. “The only reason you know your limits is because you are constantly fighting against them.” 

He looks up, the light green of his eyes appearing almost golden. “But I suppose that is the nature of you humans, always trying to see how far you can push yourselves. You’ll continue to push until you inevitably fall.” 

“Thank you for the unnecessarily theatrical phrasing, as always, Hubert.”

“Of course.” 

She lets him gather her a new pair of gloves and slide them into place right up to the wrist. He’s too gentle with his handling of her, or it may be her own perception. It’s not as if Edelgard lets many people close enough to touch, ironically enough Hubert was one of perhaps two or three and he wasn’t even technically a _person_. 

“What did you find in Fhirdiad ?” She knits her fingers together, stretching and kneading them in an attempt to lessen their sporadicness. 

“I was hard-pressed to find any willingly parted jaws. The people in Faerghus are much too...devout to speak openly of anything remotely related to magic,” he cups his chin with a hand, levelling her with his gaze. 

“The Western Church’s presence is engulfing, if there were any witches to be had there, they’ve likely been driven out by now.”

“Why would you assume that?” She turns to organize her notes, it's a futile attempt as there’s simply too many but she needs to be doing something.

“After a bit of poking around, I found that there was a hunt in the city around five years prior. Apparently, you were right in your theory of underground witchcraft there. However, the Church has been more strict in their searches recently according to one resident. It would make it nearly impossible for magic-users to operate given the circumstances. 

“In conclusion, there’s no feasible way your mother could still be in Fhirdihad and she likely hasn’t been within the last five years.”

Edelgard snaps a quill, it rings out the things she won’t say. 

“There _is_ a silver lining to this, my liege.”

She shakes her head slightly. Hubert was privy to her pessimism, and he had been doing his best to counter it in small ways. There was a way to tell just enough of the truth to spur someone on and he had mastered the art of it. Edelgard wasn’t in the mood to be encouraged, though. 

“Hubert, I-”

He produces an object in a flourish of light and dust, a dagger materializing in his hands from nowhere. Her familiar steps forward, offering it to her along with a simper that tilts too far downward at the edges. 

“She has been there before.”

Edelgard trepidatiously reaches out and eases the weapon from him, it’s her mother’s; a dagger she carried with her. Edelgard remembers pulling on the sheath that hung from her hip when she was younger.

It’s the first time she’s seen it since she was nine. 

“How did you find this?” The question comes out too quick, like a bark. She’s eager enough to drop the decorum. 

“She owned a house in the city, abandoned, there were only a few possessions of hers left behind, nothing much to note nor of value but I figured you’d appreciate the proof.” He pauses, glancing away in a manner that betrays his hesitance.

“I also happened upon one other thing.” There’s another round of lightworks and once it clears he’s balancing a storage chest in his arms. It’s built of aged, dark wood and looks as if it could fall apart at any given moment. Edelgard quirks a brow at him.

“There is...a strange magic about this. It’s not something of your world and I took the liberty of assuming you might have some curiosity about it.” 

Edelgard reaches a hand out, running it over the surface of the wood. There was definitely _something_ there, she could feel the low hum of magic curling around the chest, but her focus was more directed at what lay within. 

“It’s sealed,” she states, mostly to herself. 

“Yes, quite forcefully as well, whoever did so did not want it opened. However, the spell has begun to weaken, breaking it should not be an issue between the two of us.”

Edelgard already feels her magic beginning to respond to the thought of what could possibly be a strong lead to her mother. It’s moving on its own, right into her hands but Hubert dissolves the chest before she can release it.

“What?” She snaps the question out, pulling her eyebrows in close. 

“You have just recovered from your bout of foolishness earlier, I’d recommend that you at least wait until you are rested before attempting to break a seal that could potentially house something dangerous.” He gives her a smile that looks uncomfortable on his features. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Edelgard clicks her tongue. 

~*~

_“-leth…”_

_“Byleth…”_

_“_ Byleth _._ ”

_There’s an encroaching sort of darkness that surrounds her, but it’s welcome. She doesn’t want to get up._

_She can feel where the injury is, right in the stomach, it was deep at some point but had been reduced to a dull ache with time._

_Time._

_It wasn’t important, she was content to stay wrapped in the tranquility of...whatever this was._

_“Byleth.”_

_She keeps hearing her name, called in a voice that causes a part of her to stir. It repeats, bouncing around in the recesses of her mind. She wants it to stop. Whoever is calling her is someone she doesn’t want to face._

_She hears it with different inflections. Neutral, calm, angry, fond, ...breathless._

_“Promise me...you’ll look after her…”_

_Who?_

_“Please…”_

_She sighs internally._

_Byleth is always cleaning up_ her _mess, isn’t she?_

_It wasn’t that comfortable here anyway._

~*~

Edelgard doesn’t sleep.

The moment Hubert leaves her she fumbles with the chest, her mind running circles around the possibilities. It makes any sort of rest, physical or otherwise, impossible. 

She tries simpler spells, ones that won’t backfire too terribly, but they leave her with nothing to show for it. The seal on the chest may have weakened, but it was still shut fairly tight. It would have been easier if Hubert could assist her, but she’d rather reopen her wounds and then some before dealing with a lecture from her own familiar. 

Her hands work at the seal, it’s more of an invisible presence than anything. Breaking more complicated ones requires greater skill but, like all effects of magic, it fades with time. This one has been in place for longer than Edelgard can pinpoint but she can’t imagine herself standing any chance of working through it if it was newly cast.

It’s stubborn, whatever magic used to cast the seal fights her, biting at the tips of her fingers and making them sting. 

Edelgard is worse.

She’s tried easing her way through it, but finds that force is more effective. So that’s what she settles with, driving her own energy out to combat the spell’s.

It’s dawn by the time the damn thing gives, fizzling out and making the lid of the chest crack open slightly with a creak. 

Her earlier zeal fades with the spell, being replaced with a pit of anxiety the boils low in her gut. Hubert was overly cautious at best, paranoid at worst, but no matter what he always seemed to speak from place of reason. This time was no different. 

She isn’t sure what she wants to be inside. Her hopefulness battles with logic and reality, and it makes her begin to wonder just what would need to be locked behind a seal so strong. 

Edelgard places one hand on the dagger hanging from her hip, the other on the lid and slowly lifts it, the drum of her heartbeat keeping a rapid rhythm.

At first she can’t make out what it is. 

The chest is entirely empty save for a ball of dark fur in the center. It isn’t until she’s been staring at it for a few moments that she realizes it's breathing. 

She prods it with the heel of her dagger with a fair bit of reluctance.

There’s no response.

She tries again, harder this time. 

Nothing.

A glass of water rests abandoned on her desk and her curiosity guides her to it. She holds it above the strange…animal before letting a few drops trickle down onto the creature’s fur. It twitches just slightly before she pours the rest of the glass down onto it all at once.

She’s not given a warning.

There’s a plume of black smoke that starts from within the chest, it fans and spreads throughout the room to the point where Edelgard can’t see her own hands. A weight barrels into her and the air is forced up and out through her lungs the minute her back crashes into the floor.

The smoke is gone just as quickly as it appeared and in its place Edelgard finds herself centimeters away from a pair of oddly deep blue eyes that shelter a pair of sharpened ovals for pupils. 

“Hello.” 

There’s a moment of silence following the woman’s greeting, Edelgard taking roughly four seconds to identify the pressure on her chest as the stranger’s hands before the witch’s knuckles connect with her jaw. 

The woman is knocked off of her and Edelgard stumbles backwards until she hits the door and the dagger is brandished with a tug from its sheath. 

“Get up,” she orders sharply, keeping the blade pointed at the stranger while they clamber to their feet, clutching at her jaw with a low groan.

“You hit me pretty hard.” Her words are all shaped with a softness, the syllables rounded out so that nothing comes out with any sort of tone or bite. “ I suppose you must be the one who woke me up.”

“You’re...you’re a spirit, aren’t you?”

“It would seem so.” The spirit’s eyes wandered over the blade Edelgard had pointed at her, dark slits widening just marginally.

“You’ve got my dagger.”

Edelgard couldn’t help the dry chuckle that rocked her chest in response. “ _Your_ dagger? This belonged to my mother.”

Those same pupils blew wide and suddenly the spirit rushed forward in a blur and had a crushing grip on her wrist that made the bone bend awkwardly. Edelgard could only manage a quiet gasp as her mother’s blade was wrangled from her and the spirit rebounded in the same breath, crouching low to the ground a few paces away with an unblinking stare. A tail Edelgard hadn’t noticed earlier lashed against the floorboards.

“It’s mine, now.” 

The witch didn’t think before the lightning spell was in her palm.

To her credit, the spirit was fast. Ridiculously fast. She was pressed against the wall almost as soon as the magic was fired off, narrowly avoiding being charred by it. The eerie calm she sported didn’t waver, and something about it set Edelgard off. 

Bolts fly as Edelgard vents her irritation, electricity crackling through the air and buzzing as it makes contact with everything but its target. The spirit is comfortable with evading magic that was meant to be too quick to dodge, side-stepping and jolting out of the way with staggered motions but with hardly a singed hair.

It’s reflex.

“Would you relax for a moment?” 

“Sure, once you give me my _fucking_ dagger back.” 

Edelgard shoots off another spell, forcing the stranger into a leap to avoid it. The opening left was too great to account for, and the witch fired a follow up attack aimed straight at the spirit’s chest. 

She vanishes into thin air with a cloud of smoke. 

A shadow speeds along the floor, merging with Edelgard’s own and all of a sudden there was a body pressed firmly against her back. 

“Like I said, it’s not yours.” 

Edelgard stumbles forward before turning towards the spirit, feeling heat burst from her cheeks and burn her ears with the unexpected whisper that was all too close. 

She was out of energy and as her adrenaline died down she was left with the sinking feeling that she had pushed herself too hard. Sure enough, the fabric of her gloves cling to her hands, crimson beginning to spread across the white in a pattern that matched her earlier wounds. 

The spirit looks at her, pupils shrinking into thin, neat lines as her gaze falls down to Edelgard’s hands. She swallows thickly and there’s something in the way that she stares too long at the blood stains that makes Edelgard more uncomfortable than before. 

“You’re bleeding. Did I do that?” She speaks in the rounded-off sort of manner from earlier, but the witch can hear her teeth snapping together as she talks. 

“It’s none of your concern.” Edelgard folds her hands behind her back, attempts to regain her control over the situation and starts by fixing the spirit with a glare. “Who are you? Why aren’t you with your summoner and why were you hiding within my mother’s belongings?”

The spirit closes her eyes for a moment. When she reopens them, the strange look she wore is gone. 

“Byleth...you can call me that,” she pauses glancing around the room before finally settling back on Edelgard. “I’m not sure how I ended up here.”

“My familiar brought you here, you were inside of a sealed chest in my mother’s old residence.” The witch steps back and gestures to the storage chest that had been kicked to the side during their conflict. “Care to explain why you were in there?”

Byleth blinks and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. 

“I don’t know, actually I...” 

For the first time, an actual expression passes over her features, she clenches her jaw and knits her brow, staring at a nondescript spot on the floor. The tip of the spirit’s tail flicks back and forth.

“I can’t remember anything.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, I don't think I like how that first chapter turned out.
> 
> So this fic started out pretty simple and innocent and ended up flowering into a monstrosity I couldn't cut down, three docs worth of notes later and here we are. I thought (and still kind of think) that the idea behind this was d u m b but it soon had roots in my mind and I couldn't just not write it. I wanted to have my outline fully fleshed out and done before posting the first chapter but with it being spooky season and all I caved and let myself start working on it anyway. My confidence in my writing has officially hit rock bottom so I'm hoping that maybe I can grow it back up with something "fresh".
> 
> Also, "spirits" and "familiars" are basically interchangeable in this context, the only difference being that a familiar is a spirit who's bound to a master, I don't think I conveyed that well at all during the chapter and didn't want there to be much confusion yet. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Roory


	2. Smoke-Filled Room

The woman before her is small, her head barely levels with Byleth’s chest and that may have been generous. Yet the energy she exudes makes the room swell and forces Byleth’s to shrink. She’s dressed in red and as the early light of morning with all its pinks, blues, and yellows floods in through the window, Byleth finds her more than appealing with her chestnut hair that sings of something she may have once known. 

She’s familiar, and it’s hard to admit, but Byleth feels enraptured by her. 

“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?” 

That peculiar enchantment fades when she starts speaking, though. It reminds Byleth that she had just narrowly avoided being stuck with lightning and her jaw was sore from where she had been punched. 

“It’s hard to explain,” she pushes the words around uncomfortably, human dialect is tricky on her tongue, but she knows enough to express herself even if her speech comes out odd. “I don’t remember entering this realm, but I was bound to a human.”

“In a pact, you mean?” 

“Yes, if that is what you’ll call it.”

She can’t make sense of her mind. Blurry images and sensations rattle around but never stick. Scents and sounds that don’t feel like her own form one incoherent mess that she can’t sort through. Like a puzzle, but she was only playing with half of the pieces. 

_Promise me...you’ll look after her…_

Right, there was also that. Too vivid to be a dream, but too diluted a memory to be of any real help. She _knew_ who had spoken those words to her but not even an inkling of an idea of who she was meant to be “looking after”.

“You’d been in that chest for quite some time.” The woman’s voice snaps her back into reality, dragging her out of the sea of her own thoughts that threatened to drown her. “Around a few years is my guess.”

Byleth twirls her dagger between her fingers, she’s dexterous enough to pull the trick off. The weapon’s weight is grounding, but she feels the woman’s stare trying to bore a hole into her temple. 

“How are you even certain that dagger is yours, you said yourself your memory isn’t reliable.”

In truth, Byleth isn’t certain at all. But she understands that it’s hers. The feel of the metal, the engraved designs in the crossguard, the intimacy of dragging the blade through flesh. It’s all familiar, and considering familiarity is all she has to go on, she trusts it. The same way she unwittingly trusts the temperamental witch in front of her, even though electrocution or a broken jaw is still a vague possibility. 

“I just know.”

“You have to understand how preposterous that sounds.”

“Not particularly, it’s more _preposterous_ that you’re still hung up on it.” She spins the dagger from her forefinger to her knuckle. “In any case, I think I’ll be taking my leave now. I’m grateful for your help with waking me up and, ah, trying to kill me.”

“I don’t know how you expect to find your way around, or how you think you won’t draw suspicion looking like _that_.” 

For the first time, Byleth examines her own attire. A loose-fitting tunic that’s tattered at the sleeves and just about everywhere else, a blue sash tied around her waist, dark pants that flare slightly at the ankles.

She’s also spattered from the collar down in the brown-red of dried blood. 

That’s unusual.

“I’ll manage, though your concern is appreciated…” She drags her gaze over the witch expectantly.

“Edelgard.” 

“E..del...gard.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” she retorts with no small amount of indignation. “And there’s no point in you running off if you don’t know where you’re going.” 

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to stay?”

Edelgard tsks at that, giving Byleth a glare that does nothing but inspire her quiet mischief. “The only thing I want from you is to figure out who you are and what you have to do with my mother, after that I’ll have no further need of you.” 

Cold, but she supposes it makes sense given their not-so-pleasurable first meeting with each other. 

She sighs and crosses her arms and Byleth reabsorbs the sight of her gloves, all speckled with red. 

Byleth rocks back onto her heels but can’t fully tear her eyes from the witch’s hands. She can _smell_ the blood and her body’s strange hyper-focus on it makes her anxious. 

She didn’t cause those wounds, never lifted a claw against the witch, but still felt entirely responsible and just knowing that someone was bleeding in this sort of proximity makes her stomach churn. It’s a stronger reaction than she wants to let on or accept, at least while the reasoning behind it isn’t present. 

“Quit staring at me like that,” Edelgard draws her attention back to her eyes, the lilac at odds with the brown of her hair. The frown seems almost etched to her face, like it's the only expression she knows how to wear comfortably. 

“What exactly _do_ you remember?”

Byleth hums a soft note, strolling casually over to the sole window in the witch’s quarters. There isn’t much of a view, but she can pick out the faintest sounds of bustling activity somewhere in the distance. 

“I know my own name. I have...a brother. And the one who summoned me here was a witch,” She has the name caught in her throat, it pushes into her tongue but she can’t find specifics. The syllables don’t fit, muscle memory tries to guide her but her mind is at a loss. 

_What was her name?_

It makes Byleth grow frustrated, because it’s very much _there_ but nothing in her head cooperates. The thought thrashes against her will, and for all her encouragement, won’t settle long enough for her to grasp it. 

Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek with her dissatisfaction, pressing against the flesh there hard enough to make her wince. 

Edelgard contemplates her from a distance, features loosening just enough that Byleth thinks it might be pity. 

“You don’t remember her.”

Byleth pushes out a long breath, it’s the sound of her surrender. 

Edelgard perks up, her whole frame adopting a new stiffness. Byleth watches a unidentifiable emotion play out across her features. Her jaw tightens before she pries it apart to speak.

“My mother...was a witch.”

Byleth hits the conclusion before Edelgard voices it. She pushes a hand through her hair, it’s choppy and uneven- not mentioning the fact that it’s soaked now- but she has the feeling it’s never been particularly well-cared for. 

“She wasn’t- she didn’t have any interest in anything she would need a _familiar_ for,” Edelgard can’t keep her tone level, it breaks on ‘familiar’ like the word was a weight that crushed down on her. “She was a healer...a _potion_ maker- I…”

She says it like it doesn’t make sense. Byleth doesn’t understand the connotation, that her existence being wound up next to the witch’s mother was akin to a dark stain on white linen. It should offend her, she thinks, but there’s no reaction on her end save for her tail twisting and winding slowly around her calf. 

Hypocritical.

“You have a familiar,” she states lamely. 

“I summoned Hubert for the sole purpose in assisting me in my search, nothing more.” It’s defensive and Byleth hears it solidify her voice. “Most who summon spirits do it for...more malicious purposes. There’s no reason my mother would need one, not that I can fathom.” 

There are three sharp knocks at the door, each one plucking at Byleth’s nerves. She feels herself coil with her body’s instinct grabbing hold of the reins. The dagger is flipped into her palm, her fist clenching around the grip.

Edelgard swears something terrible underneath a breath before marching towards the door, gripping the handle delicately. She shoots Byleth a look over her shoulder, and the spirit lets her tension drop only enough so she’s not noticeably wound up. 

When the door opens a man dressed down in a dark suit that had enough buckles to be considered superfluous steps into the room. His hair is a rich black that drapes over an eye. It is in contrast to the pale, bone-white skin that pulls around a pair of high-set cheekbones. He’s all dark and brooding in appearance and Byleth doesn’t trust him.

“My liege,” his voice is too pleasant on the ears, the words lilting in all the wrong places with the sort of charm that’s forced just enough to not be human. 

“I’ve heard reports of-”

He lets the sentence snap off as he finally notices Byleth, all tightened muscle, in the corner. 

They stare at each other. The air slowly becomes charged with a mixture of apprehension, bafflement, then finally, straight out anger. 

“Hubert,” Edelgard calls to him but he doesn’t look at her, his attention raptly aimed at Byleth. “This is Byleth. She’s-”

The Miasma spell misses by a hair, shattering the window and sending brilliant glass fragments scattering towards the ground below. 

They’re the “strike first and take questions later type”, it seems.

“Hubert!” Edelgard’s _mad_ and the sound of her yell makes even Byleth wince despite the reprimand not being directed at her. She steps right up to her familiar, the sight teeters on comical. This short little witch with her chest all puffed out, scolding a man who stood a good head taller than her. 

But he’s still locked on Byleth and she, in turn, recognizes that it’s a look borne of a deep-seated hatred. He knew her at some point. 

“And here I was, believing you were dead,” he all but hisses at her. “Wishful thinking on my part.”

There’s a sudden twist in her gut that whispers a longing to lash out at him, bear her claws and drag them down that pearly skin and watch wet, red lines run like rivers. 

It startles her because there’s no passion or reason behind the thought. Byleth isn’t angry, not even slightly. She pushes the inclination back, burying it into some quiet place in the back of her mind where it can be ignored. She doesn’t want a fight. 

“Do you...know each other?” Edelgard says it generally but it’s directed at Byleth with a raised eyebrow. 

“This _creature_ needs to be dealt with immediately.”

Byleth leans her frame against the wall, folding her arms and crossing her ankles. “I don’t know, but I get the strangest feeling that he doesn’t like me.”

Hubert gives only the slightest indication that he’s confused, the expression passes quickly and the scowl returns full-force. “I don’t know nor care what you’re playing at, Demon. It is of no consequence to me.”

He brandishes the rapier from the sheath that hangs from his side, tilting the blade towards her. “If you’ve crawled your way from the grave I’ll be glad to send you back.”

Byleth picks him apart with her stare, she finds all his faults and the cracks along the seams with that declaration. She isn’t psychic, no magic at play here, but she knows when someone is _scared_. 

To her, it’s all false bravado. His grip on the rapier, the way he glares at her, how he’s subtly inched his way to form a barrier between her and Edelgard; they betray him. He wants her dead, but isn’t really willing to step any closer.

_What the hell did she do to_ him _?_

“That’s _enough_ , Hubert.” Edelgard pipes up once more, snatching the rapier from him and immediately regretting it when her hand closes too tightly around the hilt. To her credit, she doesn’t make any indication of the pain it must’ve caused, just grits her teeth and shoves it back into his scabbard as quickly as she can manage; nearly catching the fabric of his trousers on the way. 

“Lady Edelgard, from where did you collect this...thing?” 

Edelgard sighs, shifting her shoulders back slightly. “As I was trying to explain earlier, Byleth was in the chest you delivered to me.” There’s a pause where Edelgard tenses herself up. “I think there’s a chance she may have been my mother’s familiar. However, her memory has been compromised.” 

Hubert’s glare is back on Byleth again, hot and vicious as it seemed it would always be when it came to her. “You believe your mother would summon something so deplorable?”

“You think _so_ highly of me.” Byleth rocks off from her post on the wall, taking a few steps in his direction. She’s not sure what’s propelling her forward. By all accounts walking towards someone who was armed and obviously hostile is a very _bad_ idea, but she liked the idea of teasing a cornered animal. 

Hubert’s hand was planted firmly on the hilt of his sword, but he couldn’t draw it without reason. Not after Edelgard had ordered him otherwise. 

“You called me “Demon” earlier.” She pokes around the boundary of his personal space; not yet ready to be stabbed. “It didn’t seem like you meant it as just an insult.”

Hubert rolls his jaw, she knows he wants to strike her at her, to force her back. The static between them is of the threatening sort, like a tightly drawn bowstring but the arrow wasn’t being allowed to fly. 

One more little push and maybe-

“Both of you need to calm yourselves.” Edelgard’s voice is commanding and back in that no-nonsense sort of voice that warns Byleth to rein herself back in before she ends up doing something foolish. She backs off, though not without meeting Hubert’s stare one final time. 

~*~

Byleth curls around the leg of Edelgard’s chair, somewhere between being conscious and drifting off. The voices around her had been pushed into the background and served only as white noise to the tedium that sucked away at her like a leech. 

Hubert had left some time after their...introductions earlier, but the witch refused to leave Byleth to her own devices when she was called into some sort of meeting. Something about her “causing havoc in the city”. The result had been her sneaking into the conference hall within the confines of Edelgard’s shadow and being forced to lurk underneath the massive table. 

She had managed to keep herself occupied initially by running her tail up the length of the witch’s calf and enjoying the little reactions it forced out of her while backing out of the way of the kick that always followed the action, but soon Edelgard had managed to trap her tail underneath her heel and Byleth was left with nothing else to do but knead the maroon rug beneath her until the meeting was over. 

Human politics were dreary at best, though she supposed it was mostly due to a lack of understanding on her end. Edelgard herself only seemed to be there for the sake of formality and hadn’t offered much in regards to whatever discussion was being held. 

Byleth held a sliver of empathy for the witch considering the chaos she had to deal with earlier in the morning and likely hadn’t gotten much sleep the night...or _nights_ prior from the looks of it. 

She lifts herself up and peeks from underneath the table, placing her paws on Edelgard’s knee for balance and peering up at her. She would quite literally rather be anywhere else. 

The witch meets her gaze with a glare, places a gloved hand directly onto her muzzle- she had managed to get her hands healed hurriedly by a complaining Hubert before leaving- and shoves Byleth back down. 

She knows Edelgard is likely just as zoned out as she is, at least from the distant expression she wears while the meeting drones on. It wouldn’t hurt to humor her just a little bit, but the witch has a certain degree of professionalism that Byleth has come to find just as boring and bland as the conversations she kept getting snippets of. 

She was in Enbarr, capital city for the Adrestian Empire, and apparently her new companion was the princess to said Empire. Though she should’ve ascended the throne around a year ago, her uncle was still acting as regent. 

The court of fools around them clearly had no real desire to see Edelgard in that sort of position of power, if the way they spoke down to her was any indication.

Byleth had listened for a while after her antics had been put on hold, and it came as something of a surprise that Edelgard had managed to keep her temper down with all the sly remarks and belittlement she was receiving. It was a far cry from the spitfire who had tossed lightning at her only a few hours before. 

She’d have bitten the Prime Minister by now if she didn’t know that Edelgard would have tried to skin her afterwards.

“...and your Highness,” he was saying now. His voice grates on Byleth’s ears, the drawl and shape of the syllables strung up high in arrogance. Words were pressed too hard against the roof of his mouth where they stick before being yanked back down. Listening to him had been the most unpleasant experience insofar and she wanted to quiet him mostly for her own sake. 

“Speaking of Church movements, we’ve noticed some of those pompous Knights poking around our borders.” There’s the shuffling of papers and Byleth perks her ears up. 

“Recently there has been word of witches, specifically, going missing without prompt across a vast number of our territories. Usually it isn’t something we would pay much mind to, considering commoners are _hardly_ worth any sort of fuss,” She hears him chuckle softly to himself. “But that in combination with the odd Church behavior gives us some concern.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Edelgard’s voice is cooled and coldly neutral as she adjusts a pair of reading glasses to look over the papers that had been passed to her. She doesn’t express it outright, but Byleth is keenly aware of the way she wrings her fingers beneath the table. She wasn’t comfortable here. 

The Minister...Duke...something, stretches his legs out so far his shoes brush right up against Byleth’s fur. 

“We’d like you and your coven to look into the situation, Lord Arundel has already approved you for the task.” 

Edelgard lifts a hand and slowly picks her glasses from her face, looking back up with her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. “And why is that you think I would be content with that arrangement?”

“It isn’t as if there’s much else that’s occupying your time. The Imperial guards are skilled in combat, but I believe there’s a certain... _finesse_ required to investigate this matter.” Byleth hears his smirk.

“My _coven_ is not an extension of myself. I may be the head, however they have their own responsibilities to adhere to. They aren’t footsoliders at my beck and call.”

“Would you prefer to do this on your own, then?”

Edelgard says nothing but her grip on the papers tightens to the point where Byleth thinks she might shred them. 

She pushes herself out of the chair, the wood screeching across the floorboards. She nudges Byleth with her boot and she barely has enough time to slip back into the witch’s shadow before she’s storming out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to throw this out here yesterday but I'm a monster hunter first and a fanfic writer second. 
> 
> Exposition dumps are the worst and I didn't want to overload anyone's circuits two chapters in with heaps of info that really are only there for my sake, but the alternative *points to long-winded first scene that carried over from chapter 1* is the result of me trying to subtly slide in some of that information while also introducing characters to each other.
> 
> I like to imagine Byleth is kind of a smart-ass but she delivers everything monotone and expressionless so the sarcasm and jokes fall flat with others but she still gets a kick out of it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Roory


	3. Limelight

Edelgard is relatively composed, all things considered. 

She hasn’t slept in two days.

Byleth stole her dagger.

Hubert broke her window.

And the Adrestian court had decided to send her on a fool’s errand.

She’s _calm_ , because when you reach a certain level of anger; sometimes it simply cancels itself out. 

Byleth materializes and follows along obediently at her side, still posing as a cat, and stares up at her with large blue eyes that don’t express much. Cats with purely black fur are rare, moreso outside of the Empire, and she’d stick out if she were spotted. It’s inconvenient, but Edelgard doesn’t have the desire to dwell on it.

_“You’re upset.”_

When she speaks like that it comes out entirely wrong, weirdly pitched and rumbles with what Edelgard hopes for Byleth’s sake isn’t a purr. 

She doesn’t respond, just cuts her a look and Byleth goes silent, paws working faster to keep up with Edelgard’s livid strides. 

She knows where her uncle is, and knows that there’s likely no point in confronting him about this after he’s already gone through the trouble of keeping her in the dark about it up until the last minute. His study is a good walk away from the cabinet where the meeting was held, she thinks it may have been intentional. 

But she goes anyway because it’s the nature of Edelgard von Hresvleg; always pushing at those godforsaken limits. 

Byleth keeps tripping over herself and running into her legs, there aren't many more of those stumbles Edelgard is prepared to tolerate before she simply kicks the spirit across the hall.

“Watch where you’re going.”

_“Still getting used to the whole…’walking’ thing.”_

Whatever the fuck that meant.

By the time she’s nearing the front of the large double doors that lead into her uncle’s study, Edelgard still hasn’t figured out what she wants to say. 

_“Should I hide?”_ Byleth rolls her body downwards in a stretch, parting her maw in a large yawn and extending her foreclaws. 

“There’s no point in that right now, he’s...perceptive. Stay as you are.”

The less people that knew of Byleth’s existence, the better. Edelgard didn’t know exactly what sort of trouble Byleth had gotten herself up to, nor the sort of enemies she could have made while under other pacts. Hubert apparently had a certain grudge against her, and Edelgard made a mental note to question him about it in private. 

His reaction to her had been more than unpleasant, which is an accomplishment even by Hubert’s standards. She had never seen him so worked up before. 

Byleth was strange, Edelgard could admit to that, with the way she spoke and her mannerisms, it was easy to feel unsettled around her. However, familiars themselves seemed to be somewhat eccentric in general, it didn’t make sense as to why Hubert had acted as if Byleth were some sort of wild animal. 

Edelgard forces the thoughts to the back of her mind, tucking them away to pull apart later. 

There was too much to digest when it came to the events of this morning, at least right now. She had bigger concerns.

She didn’t bother knocking, just shoved the doors open and let Byleth pad in after her.

All manner of books lined the wall here, it had been Edelgard’s favorite retreat when she was younger. The space brought on a cozy sort of feeling that could really only be enjoyed in solitude, especially with it being far enough away from any of the other activity within the palace walls. 

There was a time when this was her father’s study. The phantom of when she had been a child, bursting her way into the space and looking for the warmth of his embrace plays its way through her mind.

Now every time she came here, it seemed to be for some variation of the same reason.

Her uncle sits behind the mahogany desk that faced away from the large window in the back of the room. The light illuminates his figure and casts long shadows towards the entrance where Edelgard stood.

“Why if it isn’t my favorite niece.” His voice is sickly sweet, a poison that professed kindness. 

And Goddess, she hates it.

“Uncle.” She addresses him in the clipped manner she normally does, keeping her place at the door. It’s as far from him as she can be. 

Edelgard had loved him. There was a period in time in which he was one of her favorite people. At some point she had greeted him with as much of the warm, high-pitched, innocent enthusiasm that she could muster as a child. 

Time had brung about change, had swept away her mother and father, stranded Edelgard with her uncle as the only rock she could cling to. But he too left her, though in a much different way. 

The person before her wasn’t the same man she had once chased around the palace, and she wasn’t the same carefree little girl that could allow herself to do something so childish. 

He reclines in his chair, pale eyes assessing her. He was a snake, and she the vulnerable mouse it had set upon. 

“I assume you might know why I’m here.”

Volkhard sighs, placing the quill he was holding gently back into an inkwell. “My dear, you simply must learn to loosen up.” 

“Pardon?”

He stands and starts his walk over to her; Edelgard already has her back against the door. She doesn’t want him any closer, but his respect for her personal boundaries was all but imaginary. 

“You scowl far too often, it doesn’t suit you,” he says, outstretching a hand that is meant to caress her. 

The ‘don’t touch me’ is on her lips, but doesn’t fall. She can’t force it to.

_Mrrrow._

Byleth appears from her spot behind Edelgard, weaving through her ankles to stand directly in front of her. She pins her ears and turns that blue stare up at him. 

“Oh? You didn’t tell me you adopted a cat, Edelgard.” Byleth is plucked from the ground by her scruff and left dangling in Volkhard’s grip. She doesn’t thrash or struggle, though the way she’s being held can’t be comfortable.

“She was...a stray,” she lets the lie slip out with some hesitation. Volkhard doesn’t practice magic, but had been around it long enough to know when it was being used. It wasn’t even as if Byleth was any decent at pretending to be an animal in the first place. 

“All black fur, it seems.” 

“Yes…”

“It’s hard to find cats like these, after that massacre those Church-goers started.” His other hand comes down to stroke Byleth’s head, though she doesn’t respond to the touch at all. Something about how his hand lingers bothers Edelgard. “People going mad and killing off all of these poor animals, just for their mere association with magic.”

He lifts Byleth just so that they’re eye level. “Terrible fate. Though, I suppose karma came in the form of that plague brought on by rats. I bet your new pet would’ve been useful back then, no?”

Volkhard smiles at her, it’s the thin veil that hides something loathsome beneath. “A little rat hunter all your own. I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“Uncle. I didn’t come here to talk about my cat or plagues,” Edelgard reaches up and wraps her hands around Byleth’s midsection, pulling her away from Volkhard. She doesn’t like the way that Byleth is staring at him, nor the way she has yet to sheathe her claws. “I’d like to ask you to withdraw me from this ludicrous search you’ve designated me to.”

It’s clear enough that he was trying to distract her.

“Ah,” he crosses his arms, brows turning upwards in pity. “That.”

“Yes. _That_.” She sets Byleth down though she doesn’t move an inch from where Edelgard places her. “Since when have I expressed any interest in going on goose chases?”

Volkhard’s thin smile seems to drop for just a moment while he looks at her, cold eyes locking with Edelgard’s. 

“You haven’t, my dear. Unfortunately, you’re the only one I can trust to handle this sort of task.”

“What about a few missing witches has got the court’s feathers ruffled? Just because there were some Knights around the borders doesn’t mean it has anything to do with the Church.” People went missing all the time. She would know.

Volkhard scratches at his beard, eyes narrowing at her. “You are correct, in fact, there’s absolutely nothing about these disappearances that suggests the Church is involved.”

“Then why-”

“You can’t continue to run from your responsibilities, Edelgard.” Volkhard ambles back towards the large window, glancing outside in a pensive manner. “And I cannot continue to allow you to chase after the fantasy of finding your mother.

“You’ve been developing a spell that’s meant to locate magical signatures, yes? Put it to use. You have a gift, and yet you continue to waste it by indulging in wistful dreams.” 

There’s something hot and bitter on her tongue. It fights its way to her lips and she feels what is sure to be something _entirely inappropriate_ forming in her speech; she was coiled like a spring and she feels her hands clenched into fists in the fabric of her dress.

“‘Wistful dreams?’” She keeps the volume out of her voice, but oh is there a struggle for it. “I want to find my mother, your _sister_ , and you expect me to fold underneath the pretense of it being a _wistful dream_?”

He glances at her over his shoulder, obviously something in Edelgard’s tone captures his attention, and whatever he sees when he looks at her makes his countenance soften.

“Edelgard...it’s been ten years.”

“Your point?”

Volkhard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Have you not considered, perhaps, if she wanted to return she would have by now?”

“I have,” she responds, as calmly as she is able. “But this is a selfish pursuit, and I desire nothing more than closure. She left without a word to you, to me, or to my father. She is one of the last remnants of my blood family.” 

“If she is even still drawing breath, my dear.” 

Her hands quiver.

He assesses her carefully, his expression shifting into a look birthed between worry and what she swears might be amusement. “Did I strike a nerve? Or did you not want to think of _that_ particular possibility?”

“I don’t find it a likely one.”

“Then the same would apply to our missing citizens, no?” He draws his smile back, it’s practiced and she knows it is. “So would a search for them still be considered ‘ludicrous’ by your own logic?”

She worries her lip, it’s all she can do to keep her mouth in check. 

“...I suppose not _._ ” 

~*~

“None of you have to accompany me on this ridiculous assignment.”

“Oh that’s _stupid_ , Edie, of course we’re going to help you.” Dorothea is her friend, and Edelgard has nothing but deep respect and fondness for her, but she couldn’t help the irrational annoyance she feels towards her at times.

“Times” referring to the situation she was in now, glaring at her as if Edelgard had just proposed that they try their hands at fighting an army weaponless, with Byleth’s head hugged tightly to her chest. 

Those two had instantly forged some sort of uncanny bond- to Edelgard’s absolute horror- with Dorothea gushing over the familiar as soon as they met and Byleth revealing herself to be uncharacteristically fond of the other witch’s attentions.

“I don’t particularly have an inclination to join you,” Linhardt responds, he is draped lazily in a chair with a book clutched in one hand while the other dangles uselessly at his side. “But it isn’t as if we can leave you to something so tedious on your own. 

Hubert shifts around uneasily on her shoulder. His dark feathers tickle the side of her neck when he readjusts his wings. She knows he’s always anxious over something, though this time it seems he’s just wary of Byleth in such close quarters, which was nothing new to her at this point.

Their covenstead was a simple room tucked away in one of the random chambers in the palace, this one in particular was not spacious by any means. It doesn’t normally feel crowded, but with all nine of them sharing the space it’s simply too small even with Hubert taking on his raven-esque form.

Petra and Caspar, neither particularly forward with their magic abilities, were situated on either side of her. Bernadetta, as usual, opts out of these meetings. Hubert will end up relaying the finer details to her later, though she can’t say he’s ever thrilled about having to. 

“Yeah, not like you can handle it all by yourself.”

Caspar is animated and the sort of person who initiates too much physical contact unintentionally, so when he gives Edelgard a rough pat on the shoulder she _should_ be ready for it, but ends up jerking forward with the touch instead. It earns the energetic wizard an unamused look. 

“I do not know why my father would assign you something of this nature,” Ferdinand chips in, not that Edelgard needs his input. “But I will be happy to offer my assistance nonetheless.”

Edelgard can’t help the soft sigh that she lets out. She should have anticipated that her friends would insist on tackling this with her, though it is reassuring in its own way that they didn’t even entertain the idea of leaving her on her own.

Byleth gives her an odd look from her place in Dorothea’s unyielding embrace and Edelgard wonders at the way she seems so naturally at ease amongst the rest of the coven. 

It hadn’t just been Dorothea who was quick to warm up to her, everyone save for Hubert seemed to be naturally welcoming of Byleth as an honorary member. Byleth herself was still reserved, but never resisted any sort of company from the other Eagles. 

It’s strange. 

Her coven is an open-minded group, but Edelgard always felt as if she were the primary link between them. An adhesive, without her they would not have met outside of formalities, but Byleth had managed to destroy that misconception single-handedly. 

Edelgard isn’t confident in the thought that she appreciates that. 

~*~

“Those clothes are filthy and you may _not_ wear them.”

“Can’t you just wash them? These are...restricting.”

Byleth holds her arms out awkwardly at her sides, looking herself over and nearly grimacing. Edelgard had ordered her into a ruffled blouse and waistcoat a few moments prior, it was a trying endeavor; requiring something of a struggle between the two of them in order to fit the simple attire on. 

She looks...good.

Or at least better than she did before. 

“Even _if_ I could remove the blood from those clothes, they’re tattered anyway. Besides, you dress like a pirate and if you’re going to be coming with me you cannot look as if you’ve been dragged halfway across Fodlan by your ankles.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

There's a slit in the waistband of her pants just large enough for Byleth’s tail to fit through, and it rests now against her legs. It had been an alteration Edelgard herself had made, she didn’t need the seamstress questioning after such a thing. She does the blue ribbon tie around Byleth’s neck, tugging the familiar closer to her in the process of straightening her collar.

“I still need to make preparations. It isn’t ideal, but I’d prefer if you stay hidden until we depart.”

She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. 

“Sure.”

~*~

Byleth is in plain sight.

Surrounded by the Imperial guard. 

Edelgard spots her while she’s walking by one of the large windows that stretch up towards the ceiling in the carpeted hallways. From there it’s easy to see the aged, chipped terracotta flooring that was exclusive to the training grounds below. In the dead center of that area is a familiar figure with a mop of blue hair standing over one of the guards with a practice sword drawn. 

She’s rushing down the stairs before her mind even processes it.

When she steps outside, it becomes more apparent that Byleth isn’t trying to take on the entire guard.

Well, at least not in the way Edelgard had feared.

“ _Fuck_ , kid,” one of her soldiers is groaning out as he picks himself off of the ground, rubbing at his back. “Where’d you learn something like _that_?” 

Byleth twirls her sword, the corner of her mouth twitching in what is almost a smile. “Lots of practice.”

Another of the guards steps into the ring they’ve formed around her, and Edelgard can only seethe and watch as they lock into mock combat. 

It’s an unarmed, grappling match this time, apparently, and both fighters trade blows with remarkable skill. Though, it doesn’t mean much in the face of Byleth’s inhuman speed. 

She doesn’t even begin to understand what kind of fighting style the familiar has, and it takes Edelgard a moment to realize that she doesn’t have one at all.

She’s all flexibility and acrobatics, and Edelgard can’t understand her movements at all. They’re heavily telegraphed but due to her sheer mobility it doesn’t really matter whether her blows are blocked or not since the familiar simply follows up with another attack after the initial one. She’s unnecessarily flashy, and when their eyes meet while Byleth ducks underneath a punch, she realizes why.

She’s showing off. 

Byleth dashes forward and wraps her long, capable fingers around the guard’s shoulders unexpectedly. He recoils, clearly startled, and Byleth takes the opportunity to force her knee into his stomach. While he doubles over she grabs him above the elbow and flips him over her shoulder hard enough that Edelgard hears something in his back crack loudly. 

There’s a few whoops and whistles of congratulations, while Byleth stands over her bested opponent with her shoulders back for a moment before helping him to his feet. 

She looks back up to Edelgard with glee written behind her eyes, sweat trailing down her face, though she imagines that her disdain is clear enough to turn the familiar’s expression into one that looks almost guilty. 

“Hi, Edelgard,” she gives her a small wave before letting her hand drop when the witch doesn’t return the gesture.

It’s as if a shadow falls over the group, the guards going straight-backed and silent as they turn slowly to face one of their superiors. 

“ _Byleth._ ”

Nothing else needs to be said, apparently. Byleth trots over to her, scooping her _new_ waistcoat off of the dirty ground and follows behind the witch silently as she walks back into the palace’s interior. 

Once they’re back in Edelgard’s room, she all but slams the door. 

“What the hell were you doing out there?” She asks, crossing her arms. “I told you to keep out of sight.”

Byleth scratches the back of her neck, looking anywhere but at the witch. If she didn’t know any better, Edelgard would dare to say she looked sheepish. “I thought I was when I started to practice, but then all of those soldiers kind of came from nowhere.”

“There’s a huge window that overlooks the grounds anyway, Byleth.”

“...Oh.”

Edelgard pushes out a displeased breath, it didn’t matter. They would be gone within the next day and then she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding the familiar. 

“You’re exasperating...still,” she glances at her curiously. How were you able to hide your tail?”

Byleth scrutinizes her with her head to one side before responding. “Like this.”

She grabs at the hem of her shirt and lifts it upwards and Edelgard is barely able to jerk her head away from the sight with heat bursting across her face and stinging her ears.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

“You asked where I hid my tail,” she responds nonchalantly. “I just wrap it around my torso like this-”

“Yes, thank you for the demonstration. Now please, pull your shirt back down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I actually hate this chapter. Well, it's more accurate to say I hate this weird in-between part of the fic because no matter what I do I probably won't be satisfied with it but I really let myself get lazy here especially with all of the awkward transitioning between scenes so I apologize for that. 
> 
> I'm quite tired, as I usually am by the time I update, so let's just ignore my errors (technical and otherwise) until I'm not half-dead. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Roory


End file.
